


where the stars hide their graves

by Morte_Sangriz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Butterfly Effect, Father-Daughter Relationship, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Regulus Black Lives, Regulus Black is Parental asf, Reincarnation, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morte_Sangriz/pseuds/Morte_Sangriz
Summary: Sometimes new stars are born from the collapse of others, life from death, order from chaos. Sometimes new stars are born in worlds that once lived in the pages of a book and think upon waking "shit." Canopa is one such star. Now, if only she could actually remember the entire plot instead of just bits and pieces that would be great. (SI/OC) Pairing undecided.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Rose Petal Red](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745900) by [NonchalantxFish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NonchalantxFish/pseuds/NonchalantxFish). 



> Hey everyone, I'm at it again with another SI/OC fic. You can blame all the good Harry Potter Self-Insert fanfiction I've read recently for this being written. Also, sorry but I probs won't have a reliable update schedule for this since I don't know the meaning of having chapters in reserve lolol.

**_THE DAILY PROPHET_ **

**_October 25th, 1980_ **

**_Witch goes out with a bang! Nine dead after household attack._ **

**_By: Andy Smugley_ **

_710 Rowena Avenue became a battleground yesterday evening when one of our fellow journalists, Ester Marino, was targeted by Death Eaters in her small home on the outskirts of London. Ester had gone off the grid earlier last year following her difficult pregnancy, choosing to submit most of her articles from the comfort of her own home- a home, that eventually became a tomb for several._

_The Dark Mark was reported to have appeared over the residence at approximately 6:00 p.m. but authorities were unable to arrive immediately due to an incident at a muggle zoo around the same time [_ **_more about this incident on page 8_ ** _]._

_Aurors Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody and Alice Longbottom arrived on the scene just past 6:40 p.m and found a battlefield waiting for them. “The front yard was charred and there were several bodies strewn about,” a witness reports, “It looked like a bomb had gone off outside the house.”_

_Authorities later identified a few of the bodies as known Death Eaters. Some remain unidentified since the damage they received was intensive enough to leave them nearly unrecognizable. They will be presumed  Death Eaters until more information about the bodies come to light. Including an additional body inside the house, eight dead Death Eaters have been found._

_“Those wards were damned good,” Auror Moody is overheard to have commented, “Good enough to take out seven of those slimy bastards.”_

_“She was a hero,” Auror Longbottom told the Daily Prophet. “She held on the longest she could and took down as many as she could with her. Her actions saved a lot of lives in the long run.”_

_Ester is reported to have killed eight Death Eaters in the time it took for Aurors to arrive on the scene. It is assumed that the first seven perished as they forced their way through the wards surrounding the house and the eighth was a casualty of a struggle indoors._

_Tragically, help did not arrive in time to save Ester’s life. When Aurors arrived on the scene, Ester Marino was already dead._

_Witnesses near the home report hearing screaming coming from inside the house. Screaming that continued on and off. Authorities fear the Cruciatus Curse was involved and that Ester was tortured for an uncertain period of time before finally being struck by the Killing Curse_ **_[more on the Unforgivables on page 4]_ ** _._

_The Daily Prophet asks the public to help in finding the whereabouts of the child she leaves behind._

_Aurors Moody and Longbottom are in charge of the ongoing investigation for Ester’s murder and her missing child. As of now, there are no leads- the location of the child remains unknown._

_If you have any information in regards to this case, please contact Aurors Moody or Longbottom in the Auror Department in the Ministry of Magic._

_The Daily Prophet will mourn Ester Marino. She fought until the very end._

* * *

 

**_THE DAILY PROPHET_ **

**_October 8th, 1981_ **

**_Aurors hit a dead-end, search for missing child proves fruitless._ **

**_By: Martha Ingent_ **

_Close to a year has passed since the tragic loss of beloved Magi-reporter, Ester Marino, who was killed last July during a Death Eater attack on her home. Since then, the identity of her killer has yet to be uncovered. The tragedy grows still, as no clues have been found about possible whereabouts of her missing child. The unnamed child has been missing since Ester’s death._

_Aurors Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody and Alice Longbottom, the Aurors leading the investigation, ask the public to dismiss theories of human sacrifice and- as Auror Moody is quoted to have said-  “Keep their mouths shut if they’re not going to be any help.”_

_The Daily Prophet asks that anyone with any information on the whereabouts of Ester Marino’s missing child step forth and contact Aurors Moody and Longbottom in the Auror Department in the Ministry of Magic._

* * *

 

**_THE DAILY PROPHET_ **

**_November 1st, 1981_ **

**_THE DARK LORD VANQUISHED._ **

**_By: Higgins Nowl_ **

_The Daily Prophet bids you all celebrate, dear readers, for THE DARK LORD IS DEAD._

_Reports state that last night, on the eve of Halloween, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named appeared in Godric’s Hollow where he entered the home of James and Lily Potter. Both were killed in the struggle assumed to have taken place inside, leaving their one-year-old child as the only survivor of last night’s miracle._

_Conflicting accounts state that the home was under ward of the Fidelius Charm_ **_[more on Fidelius Charm on page 12]_ ** _whose Secret Keeper is rumored to be the best friend of the deceased James Potter, Sirius Orion Black. Not enough is known about this arrangement yet, although clues hint at Sirius Black’s involvement with Death Eaters._

_Although many events that transpired within the home of the Potter’s remain unknown, the only confirmed report is that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated last night by the Boy Hero, HARRY POTTER._

_The Daily Prophet bids its readers celebrate tonight!_

_REJOICE for the reign of the Dark Lord is now over!_

_REJOICE for the Dark Lord is DEAD!_

_REJOICE for THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED!_

* * *

 

**_THE DAILY PROPHET_ **

**_November 1st, 1981_ **

**_A Death Eater’s last stand? Sirius Black a murderer!_ **

**_By: Ignis Prue_ **

_Last night, inside the Potter’s home on Godric’s Hollow, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated at the hands of Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. Shortly since then, wizards have been coming forth- claiming to have been under the effects of the Imperius Curse_ **_[more on the Unforgivables on page 9]_ ** _while in service for the Dark Lord._

_Shockingly, ex-Auror Sirius Black has been revealed as a Death Eater during an altercation between Peter Pettigrew- a childhood friend of both him and James Potter- and himself early in the dawn after the Dark Lord’s defeat. When Aurors arrived on the scene, Black is reported to have repeated the words, “He’s not dead,” possibly in reference to the vanquished Dark Lord only to grow violent when Aurors attempted to detain him._

_Twelve muggles were killed in the explosion that took place, as well as Pettigrew himself. Only a finger was recovered from his body. Sirius Black showed no remorse for his actions._ **_[More on the incident on page 14.]_ **

_It has been stated that Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper of the Potter family and with the events of last night and this morning, it is clear to say that Sirius Orion Black_ **_betrayed_ ** _James and Lily Potter to the Dark Lord- resulting in their deaths and subsequent_ **_defeat_ ** _of You-Know-Who._

_It is well known Bellatrix Lestrange, who was a prominent member of the Dark Lord’s inner circle, originated from the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. Perhaps this is a sign that the Black Madness truly runs through members of this family._

_Regardless of this fact, Sirius Black will be sent to Azkaban, where he will spend the rest of his life._

* * *

 

**_THE DAILY PROPHET_ **

**_December 3rd, 1981_ **

**_Search for missing child called off. Lost child assumed dead._**

**_By Leah Hooper_ **

_In the wake of the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the influx of Aurors needed to apprehend the extremist groups that remain of his reign, the search for the lost child of Ester Marino has been called off._ **_[More on Ester Marino’s death and missing child on page 5.]_ **

_“If they’re still out there it’d be a miracle,” Auror Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody is overheard to have said to fellow Auror, Alice Longbottom, “If it’s the Death Eaters that took them then there’s no way they’re still alive now that You-Know-Who is dead. The Death Eaters are cleaning house. They’re getting rid of anything that ties them to what they’ve done. There’s no reason to keep a stolen child.”_

_The lost child in question would be approximately two years old. It has been more than a year since their initial disappearance and no leads have been found._

_As of now, Aurors are calling off the investigation. The lost child of Ester Marino has been declared dead._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s wrong, little one?” Master murmured to Bratling as the girl clutched him tightly and buried her face in his neck. “You had a nightmare too? Oh, don’t cry, it was just a dream.”  
> Bratling shook her head. The thick black curls bounced on her head as she did so. “No.”  
> “No?” Master repeated with minor confusion, “No what?”  
> “Not just a dream,” Bratling clarified with a watery sniffle, “I remember now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update schedule? What is that? Author has never heard of such a concept. Cx
> 
> Here's a new chapter for y'all lol. Hope you can forgive me for however long it takes me to write the next chapter. cx

**_October 31st, 1981_ **

“Kreacher,” the toddler sobbed out as he popped into the nursery with a soft _crack_. “Kreacher!”

The house-elf scowled but gathered the wailing child in his arms. “Bratling?”

Kreacher was a good elf. He listened to his Master’s orders without questioning them- Master _always_ knew best- despite how… _unrefined_ the object of his current orders happened to be.

If Master commanded that Bratling be cared for, even if the child happened to be a horrid halfling- a mix of Pureblood and something _lesser_ \- Kreacher would obey. Kreacher would _always_ obey Master, not only because it was his duty- but because Master was Kreacher’s _friend._

Kreacher used his magic to create orbs of multicolored light that danced around them. This, out of all the things Kreacher had tried to calm down the child under his care, was the only thing that seemed to bring peace to the sobbing toddler choking out the words, “I remember-”

The door to the nursery creaked open and Kreacher turned to his Master as he entered the room. “Kreacher? The wards went off,” Master questioned with a concerned frown on his face, “Is everything alright?”

Kreacher straightened his back and wiped the child’s face clean of tears and snot. Even a child had to be presentable when faced with the Master of the House. “Bratling had a nightmare. Kreacher will take care of it. Nothing for Master to waste his time on!”

“You _are_ holding my heir, Kreacher. It’s not a waste of time if it has to do with this.”

If he were not the most dignified house-elf of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, then the look on Kreacher’s face would be affronted. “ _Master,_ ” He gasped in horror, “Bratling is not the permanent heir!”

“I’ve told you before Kreacher, her name isn’t _Bratling_.” Master laughed and Bratling perked up at the sound from Kreacher’s arms. “It’s Canopa.”

Hearing his Master say the Bratling’s name so fondly made Kreacher squirm in guilt. He had despised the child at first. It’s where the nickname Bratling came from, to begin with.

Master was right about the Bratling’s real name but Bratling would always be Bratling to Kreacher. Perhaps that’s why his Master didn’t bother too hard to enforce the name switch- since Kreacher didn’t truly have any ill will towards the girl any longer.

Master probably thought it was funny to hear the girl be called that.

The child squirmed in Kreacher’s hold and reached out to Master, who watched the girl with a bemused and melancholic expression before gently removing her from Kreacher’s grasp.

“What’s wrong, little one?” Master murmured to Bratling as the girl clutched him tightly and buried her face in his neck. “You had a nightmare too? Oh, don’t cry, it was just a dream.”

Bratling shook her head. The thick black curls bounced on her head as she did so. “No.”

“No?” Master repeated with minor confusion, “No what?”

“Not just a dream,” Bratling clarified with a watery sniffle, “I remember now.”

Kreacher cocked his head. “What does Bratling remember?”

Bratling started crying again and Master’s face flipped from concerned to panicked. For all that Master had been helping Kreacher raise the Bratling for the last year, Master was still clueless when it came to a crying Bratling. It was no surprise. Master was still a child himself when he decided to take in Bratling. Master was truly the kindest man Kreacher had the honor of serving.

Even if he had no idea how to rear a child.

Luckily for Master, Kreacher had raised both Master and-

Luckily for Master, Kreacher knew how to deal with young children and the care they needed in order for them to grow healthy, strong, and respectable members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Bratling’s next words stopped any humor that Kreacher may have felt at the sight of his normally poised Master out of his depth:

“I remember being someone else,” Bratling said in a weary voice that Kreacher had never heard Bratling use before. Both Kreacher and Master froze at her words.

“What,” Master asked, face locked on hysteria unbecoming of the Lord of the House of Black.

Kreacher had seen Master panic enough times to recognize the signs by now. This was his Master, terrified over what the Bratling had said.

“What did you just say?”

* * *

 

Regulus tucked the sleeping child back into her crib with trembling hands. She had fallen asleep after speaking for nearly an hour. He had sent Kreacher to get water for her raspy throat but she had fallen asleep before the elf could return. There was much that she didn’t remember, much that Canopa held herself back from telling him. He was a Slytherin and noticing the tells of a lying child was simple.

He tried to ignore the ache in his heart that only yesterday Canopa had never spoken a single dishonest word towards him; or how the aged look in her eyes made her look like an entirely different child than the one he had grown to love.

_((“Reg, look,” Ester smiled, the dimple on her left cheek deepening. She took him by the hand and led him to the crib, both of them looking down at the sleeping infant below. “She’s so tiny isn’t she?”))_

Regulus wasn’t naive. He knew reincarnation was rare even if not entirely unheard of in the Magical Community. But a part of him had hoped that perhaps Canopa hadn’t truly meant what she had said. That she had simply been caught in the throes a bad dream and was simply saying the first things that came to mind. The amount of maturity present in her now in contrast to yesterday evening was enough to put that hope to sleep.

That wasn’t the awareness of a two-year-old girl; that was a bastardized mix of adult and child that resulted in something between the two- something not quite the woman she had been in her past life but not wholly the toddler he had watched grow little by little.

(( _“I think I died, Papa,” Canopa whispered into his neck, “I think I remember dying.”_

_There was a lump in his throat at the thought of her having the knowledge of something so dreadful, so terrible, so horrifying. He tightened his arms around her and breathed in the scent of baby powder and shampoo. His heart was caught in his throat._

_She pulled away enough to meet his eyes._

_“It hurt, Papa,” She told him somberly, something aged and dark flashing across her eyes so like his own. “They say it doesn’t but really does.” Besides the crib, Regulus could see Kreacher staring at Canopa with nothing but the truest form of horror in his wide bulbous eyes._

_“It was scary-” Her voice cracked and she was the child he knew weeping in his arms once more. “It was scary and I was alone and it hurt so so so much-” ))_

He left the room in silence and closed the door behind him. His back was pressed against the sturdy wood of the door as his knees gave up under him. He slid down onto the ground with a gasp of air that was nearly impossible to draw into his lungs.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, vacantly gazing at the end of the hall with his fingers pressed against his face but when he came to there was a glass of water beside him and a worried Kreacher wringing his hands in front of him.

“Is Master feeling better now?”

Regulus took a deep breath and exhaled softly. He nodded and took a sip of the water Kreacher had brought him. “It’s just… a lot to take in.”

The house-elf nodded in understanding, his ears drooping. “Kreacher does not think there has been an old soul born into Master’s Noble House since before Kreacher’s great-great-grandfather was born.”

A part of Regulus perked up at the information. Despite how long ago that had been, the fact that someone of his family had been a reincarnated soul meant that some form of record about the person in question existed. He opened his mouth to ask Kreacher for more information about this ancestor of his when the tattoo on his left forearm started to burn.

He hissed a curse, quickly pressing down on the mark with a gasp of pain. Kreacher noticed the action immediately. His eyes went wide. “He calls?”

Regulus muttered an affirmation and dragged himself upright, gritting his teeth. This was the pain that came from refusing the summons of Lord Voldemort, from turning away from the unkillable wizard who feared death more than anything.

“Kreacher,” He rasped, fighting back a groan of pain at the pain erupting from the Dark Mark. “My room. _Now!”_ The elf didn’t question the command for a second. He snapped his fingers and suddenly Regulus was in his room, swaying on his feet and barely managing to reach the bed before collapsing.

He was growing used to the Dark Mark’s agonizing pain. Fighting off the Dark Lord’s summons had painful repercussions even though since that first time- the first time he turned his back on what his family wanted him to do and refused to serve Voldemort any longer- it had gotten easier to do so.

The pain remained the same. It was his conviction that had grown stronger.

(( _Ester looked up at their arrival, Kreacher more frantic than Regulus had ever seen him and Ester quickly growing pale at the elf’s words. Words that sounded like they were coming from a great distance and left ringing in his ears. She shot up from her porch chair and was beside him in the span of a blink to the next. She dropped to her knees beside him- when had Kreacher laid him down?- and waved her wand over him._

_She barked commands at Kreacher at whatever the diagnostic spell had told her and the elf only hesitated for a moment before obeying. Wasn’t that funny, Regulus thought, even as his body convulsed from the pain in his arm once more, Kreacher only listened to Purebloods._

_Ester must have made a good impression on him in the few times they’d met or perhaps the potion he had drunk had left him looking worse than he thought. At least he had gotten water at last. He had thought that the thirst would never end and still he ached for more._

_He didn’t know if he was screaming with every surge of agony that the Dark Mark sent through his nerves, but there was the taste of blood in his mouth so he might have been._

_Ester’s hands were cool as they brushed the hair from his face. Regulus leaned into the touch. He felt hot, too hot as if he were burning from the inside out starting with his arm. He must have blacked out because next time he woke he was laying on Ester’s bed with a damp cloth on his brow._

_Kreacher sat on a small rocking chair with an infant in his arms, looking tense and concerned but thoroughly distracted by the child. Ester herself had been holding his hand, red-rimmed eyes and thumb sweeping over the back of his hand gently. Her room smelled of flowers._

_‘Kreacher, did you destroy it?’ He wanted to ask. ‘What happened while I was asleep?’_

_“You’ve been crying,” He murmured instead, words hurting as they came out of his throat but too quiet to be clearly made out._

_The sound caught the attention of the woman and the elf. Both of their heads shot up to look at him, twin expressions of relief washing over their faces at seeing him awake. Kreacher jumped up from his chair and bolted to his bedside, the Half-Blooded child in his arms seemingly forgotten for the moment._

_“Master! Master is finally awake!”_

_“Regulus,” Ester said in a softer voice and her dark eyes meeting his. She twined her fingers into his own. There was an odd look on her face with a multitude of emotions mixed into it that Regulus could not decipher all of them. “Kreacher told me that you’ve defected.”_

_The smile that broke across her face rivaled the sun, “I’m glad you’re okay.”))_

Regulus opened his eyes.

The room spun into focus after a moment, breaking him out of the memory of a time long past and back into the present- into a place where Ester was dead and Canopa was the only thing that remained of her.

At some point Kreacher must have changed him out of pajamas he had worn into the nursery- there was a chance he had thrown up dinner onto them- and into a different set of nightclothes. There was a damp cloth on his forehead and a glass of cold water on the nightstand beside him.

Kreacher always nursed him through these incidents with nothing but gentleness and devotion. Despite this, Regulus selfishly wished that it was someone else that would be here with him; the same person that hummed as she dabbed at his face with a wet washcloth and that poked his cheek when he tried to sit up too soon after an attack.

His wand was beside the glass of water and he flicked the wood until a glow of magic burst from the end and twisted into the current time. His eyebrows rose. It had been less than an hour. Usually, the backlash from not answering the summons lasted for three if not more, depending on how vengeful Lord Voldemort was feeling that particular day.

Regulus turned his eyes to his left forearm and felt his breath stutter in his throat.

“KREACHER!”

The elf appeared almost immediately. His eyes were wide and his ears perked up in alertness. “Master?”

“The mark,” Regulus whispered, unable to tear his eyes from the faded tattoo, “There’s something wrong with the mark.” The elf leaned in to peer at the mark closely and rocked back on his heels in shock.

“The magic almost is gone.” Kreacher whispered reverently, looking as if someone had struck him upside the head with a frying pan. “Master! The mark is almost gone!”

“That means someone has nearly killed the Dark Lord.” Regulus laughed hysterically.

He wanted to weep. His eyes were damp but were lit with a manic mix of hope and grief. Of course, by the time someone defeated Voldemort, it would be after it was too late to save the life of Ester Marino. “This gives us what we needed most, Kreacher! _Time to figure out how to destroy the Horcrux!”_

Outside, all over the streets of London- while Regulus mourned in the solitude of his bedchamber and Canopa slept on with memories of another life fluttering into her mind- the name _Harry Potter_ was whispered, revered, and became a thing of legend, all overnight.

* * *

 

** _November 1st, 1981_ **

“This has to be some kind of sick prank,” Master whispered, face pale and hands clenched tightly around the copy of the Daily Prophet. “Sirius-” His voice cracked as the man in the photograph snarled at the ones taking the picture and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Sirius would _never_ -”

Kreacher wrung a dishrag in his long-fingered hands. His eyes were incredibly wide, flicking his gaze between his Master and the newspaper in Master’s hands.

“They’re saying he killed thirteen people,” Master said and set the newspaper down beside this untouched breakfast. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “They’re saying _Sirius_ is a Death Eater and that he sold Potter out to the Dark Lord.”

“Is Master talking about the blood traitor?” Kreacher asked anxiously. “Mistress Black’s traitorous son?”

Master’s hand dropped away from his eyes and they fluttered shut. “Kreacher,” Master said quietly, in a voice that left no room for argument. “Please. Not now.”

Kreacher yanked at his right ear at the mild reprimand. “Kreacher is sorry.”

“Papa?” Bratling’s voice cuts in from the other end of the table.

Kreacher jerked and turned to stare at Bratling in shock. Bratling stared at Master with grey eyes that looked much older than they ever had before. Kreacher was starkly reminded of the events of last night.

“Canopa,” Master began weakly, not raising his eyes from where they had dropped to the freshly polished cutlery beside the newspaper. His shoulders were stiff and he seemed frozen in place. “I’ve told you before that you shouldn’t call me that.”

Bratling glanced at the newspaper on the table and back up at Master with an unreadable expression on her face. “Papa,” She repeated as if Master hadn’t been trying to dissuade her from calling him that since she first spoke the word nearly a year ago. “Who’s Sirius?”

Master’s breath hitched at the question and Kreacher had to hold back the urge to send Bratling to her room with a snap of his fingers. Master had ordered him to treat Bratling well, and sending Bratling away whenever the urge struck him wasn’t something Master approved of. No matter how her questions were opening wounds in Master’s heart that hadn’t had the chance to ever fully heal.

“Sirius…” Master whispered, choking out the name of the blood traitor as if it hurt him to say it, “Sirius is my older brother.” Master’s hands had curled around the edge of the dark wood of the table. His fingers were white-knuckled and nearly bloodless. “We haven’t spoken in a very long time.”

“I don’t like Uncle Sirius,” Bratling declared suddenly, making Master’s head snap up to look at her in shock and Kreacher feel a kernel of pride at Bratling’s opinion on the traitor. “Talking about him makes you sad, Papa, so I don’t like him at all.”

At Bratling’s words, Master flinched _hard_.

“Master?” Kreacher asked in concern, seeing how pale Master had gone at Bratling’s words. The flicker of satisfaction he felt at Bratling rejecting her relation with the blood traitor as gone now, drowned by worry for his Master.

Anything that had to do with the blood traitor always affected Master, so it was no surprise that Bratling’s ignorant statement had struck Master right in the place he was most sensitive about. Especially since it had to do with Bratling, and that Mudblood mother of hers, and Master’s blood traitor brother, and Master himself.

Master stood up from the table, dragging his eyes away from the Bratling with some effort and drawing in a shuddering breath. “I’m not feeling very well, I’ll be in my chambers.”

“Papa?” Bratling questioned and squirmed against the high chair she was seated in. She reached out for Master with short pudgy arms and called for him again, her voice tinged with a trace of panic this time. “Papa?”

“Kreacher, I need you to do something for me,” Master said, eyes intense and filled with swirling grief. “I’ve tried so many times but I’ve never been able to bring myself to do it.”

Kreacher’s eyes widened and the dishrag slipped out of his grip. “Master can’t mean-”

“Kreacher,” Master murmured, his fingers twitching towards the now crying Bratling- as if he wanted to scoop her up and ease her weeping. “Show her the tapestry.”

Kreacher hesitated, thinking about how much this decision could alter the sense of home Master had found after his Mudblood sweetheart had been killed. But Kreacher was a good elf, he had always been a good elf, and so he bowed his head and whispered, “Yes Master.”

“Papa, I’m sorry,” Bratling sobbed and clawed at the latches of the chair.

Master nodded silently as he walked away from the dining room.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad, Papa, I’m sorry.”

The words followed Master out as he fled.

* * *

 

The ceiling hadn’t changed from the last time Regulus had traced it with his eyes, although the ache in his heart had a different cause this time. Last time it was the mother and now it was the daughter. What a horrid thing to inherit, he mused even as he let out a bitter laugh- the ability to break his heart with little effort.

Distantly he wondered if Kreacher had shown Canopa the tapestry if she had seen the secret he hadn’t been able to bring up from the moment she first called him, ‘Papa’.

He wondered if she would be able to understand what it all meant.

_((“Papa, do you promise that you won’t ever hate me?” Canopa asked, after the admission that she remembered dying still hung in the air the nursery and Regulus had remembered how to breathe once more._

_“Even if I’m not normal like everyone else?” She whispered, gray eyes wide and shiny with tears, “Even if I remember being someone else besides Canopa?” She was so small in his arms- the little girl, the dead woman, the twisted combination of the two. She felt like the child he had taken in, the child he had sworn to protect with his life no matter what._

_Regulus hadn’t hesitated. “I could never hate you, little one. Never, ever.”_

_“I promised your mother I would always take care of you,” Regulus continued, rubbing soothing circles on her small back as she wept. “I promised that I would always think of you as my own no matter what.”_

_The small lights that Kreacher had summoned earlier danced around the room, softly illuminating the messily painted trees and flowers decorating the bedroom wall. If Regulus closed his eyes and thought back, he could almost remember the exact way the sun had hit Ester’s smile as she painted the bright red apples into the branches of the trees._

_“Do you promise that you won’t ever hate me either?” Regulus asked in a whisper, the weight and guilt of what he had hidden way striking him once again, in the way it tended to whenever he saw Canopa._

_The girl had wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her white nightgown and had given him a bright smile._

_“Silly Papa,” she had said, “I could never hate you either.”))_

Regulus wondered if that would be true even after she saw the tapestry.

* * *

 

“It’s so pretty,” Canopa whispered as she drank in the sight of the tapestry depicting the lineage of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for centuries after centuries. Kreacher was somber by her side, levitating her up with magic after she asked him to let her see the family tree from the very top but saying little else. It wasn’t until her chubby fingers had reached the near bottom of the tapestry that she paused and stared blankly at her Mother’s name- at the name it was connected to before dropping off to her own.

“Does Bratling see now? What Master did not say before?” Kreacher asked, only after he saw that Canopa had paused on the three names. “Does Bratling see now why Master despairs?”

“Oh,” She whispered, tracing the line of her Papa’s name with a finger; tracing the line of her Mother’s name with another, and not moving her eyes away from the burnt spot in the fabric that was nestled between the two. “I do.”

She needed no further explanation to see that there were no lines connecting the name _Canopa Black_ to _Regulus Black,_ or that the name of her father, right above her own, was burnt away.

* * *

 

Back when they were still young boys, Sirius and Regulus, had been inseparable.

Everything had begun with the two of them, the two brothers of the House Black.

Sirius, the perfect heir, and Regulus, the perfect spare. Sirius, who would always walk ahead, look ahead; come, see and conquer first. Regulus, who would always carefully step where his brother had stepped fist, who would never look beyond his brother; who would arrive, examine and leave places untouched.

There it began with the heir and the spare and the bond the two shared.

 _Then for the heir came:_ Hogwarts and Gryffindor; James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew; the disownment, the banishment from the family tapestry, the screaming match in the kitchen.

 _Then for the spare came_ : Regulus alone; Slytherin and their parent’s expectations; being shunned by his brother; Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters; family duty and being branded and wanting to run but being unable to do so.

 _Then for the heir came_ : Freedom, choices, friends, and a taste of paradise.

 _Then for the spare came_ : The servitude, the gritting his teeth in silence; salvation, and damnation, and Ester Marino.

Everything began with the two of them, the once inseparable brothers of the House Black.

 _T_ _hen for the heir and the spare came_ : Canopa Black and the title of father that could only belong to a single man- one who had no clue that the title was meant to be his and the other wanting nothing more than for it to belong to him.

And so at last, it came down to the two of them once more, Sirius and Regulus- the dishonored heir and the crowned spare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to tell me what you think! Were you shocked by the developments? 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. C: See you next time! 
> 
> Love, Morte_Sangriz


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought of the tapestry, of his brother being accused of a crime Regulus was positive he had not committed. He thought of the Dark Lord, of the world baying for blood and retribution, of the sins he had committed thinking his cause was the just one- the one that would make the world a place that would be worth the lives sacrificed to create it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'mma throw y'all a chapter and hide before anyone realizes it's been months.
> 
> For real though, sorry for the wait. Not only has this year been tough on me personally, but this isn't even my main work. I did manage to post a few new works since my last update, so feel free to check those out (including a Hanahaki!DGM one-shot, the beginnings of a Villain!Izuku fic, as well as updates for my other fics). Mind you, I took a brief break from my Hisoka/OC fic I was writing, but I'm feeling much better now- so I'm trying to update all the things I need to before this writing high wears off. 
> 
> SO, sorry for the long Author Note, I'll let you get to the actual chapter now. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**_November 2nd, 1981_ **

“No! I don’t want to!”

“Get in the bath, Bratling,” Kreacher ordered, voice stern and mouth pressed in an unimpressed line at her refusal. Not that Canopa was fooled. Kreacher was her best friend in the whole world, reading his facial expressions was easier than convincing Papa to let her have an extra tart for dessert.

She always refused to get into the baths he prepared for her. And almost as if he was prepared to dealing with similar situations, Kreacher always responded in the same way. He secretly found this whole thing amusing, she could tell. Otherwise, he wouldn’t humor her by asking her to get in the tub, knowing what her answer had always been and would continue to be: a firm and steadfast _no._

“Kreacher will not allow Bratling to shame Master’s Noble and Most Ancient House by letting Bratling remain filthy. Bratling must take a bath now.”

She stuck out her tongue at him and hid behind the toilet.

It was always funny to rile him up.

The reactions he gave never failed in making her feel better. After the long night of remembering things she shouldn’t have, as well as learning that her Papa had a real reason to be adverse to the name she had given him- Kreacher’s reaction to her teasing was something she was looking forward to.

Kreacher’s left ear twitched.

“Bratling leaves Kreacher no choice,” He raised a knobby finger and Canopa rose through the air too, laughing in the delight at the weightlessness of her body. This was her favorite part, feeling like she was flying- like the fluffy clouds she had seen through her bedroom window.

With his other hand, he snapped and Canopa’s dirtied clothing made its way off her and folded itself neatly on the marble counter. “Grimy child,” Kreacher tsked, as he always did, lowering his finger and gently bringing her down into the warm soapy water of the clawed tub.

This too was one of Canopa’s favorite parts.

She loved the water on her skin, the bubbles that chimed like bells as they popped in the air, and the way the water always smelled like lavender and jasmine. She liked splashing in the big tub and watching Kreacher’s eyes soften at the squeals of delight that would escape her.

She liked it when the toys in the bath- small ducks of various colors letting out high pitched quacks and swimming across the water, ships with small sailors enchanted to sing shanties as they circled her knees- played along when she babbled nonsense, the ducks quacking in agreement and the sailors changing their songs to fit what she would tell them.

This was one of Canopa’s favorite parts, so why…?

_((“I think I died, Papa. I think I remember dying.”))_

Her smile died as the water met her skin. Trembling started in her fingers, climbing up her arms, taking over her entire body in a matter of seconds. The bubbles still sounded like bells but the way they tolled and tolled made goosebumps erupt from her flesh. The scent of lavender and jasmine was cloying now, choking the air from her lungs and making it harder to breathe.

Why was…?

The ducks let out concerned squeaks and the sailors sang something low and soothing, but the sounds didn’t fully register, not when she was panting and pulling as much breath into her lungs as she could, not when the sound of her terrified gasps of air muffled the toys.

“Bratling?” Kreacher asked, voice soft, eyes wide and fear, “What is wrong?”

What was wrong? What was wrong with her?

She shook her head frantically, ‘ _I don’t know. I’m so scared, Kreacher.’_

No words escaped her mouth. The jerky movements made the water slosh around her, wetting more of her skin. _‘Help me, I‘m so scared,’_ she wanted to beg, but the sounds were caught in her throat the same way her eyes were locked onto the rippling of the water-

the water

_the water_

**_the water-_ **

* * *

 

 “What happened, Sirius?” Regulus muttered, pacing the length of his chambers with his teeth biting at his thumbnail, “What the hell could have made them say you did something like this?”

On the silk sheets of his messy bed, where he had laid awake all night tossing and turning, the face frenzied image of his brother’s face peered out at him. The headline was seared into his memory. Regulus couldn’t stop glancing at the newspaper as if doing so would stop the world from calling Sirius a murderer. It was hard not to feel sick at what was happening, considering that it was _his brother_ being declared a murderer- a Death Eater- having names thrown at him that applied more to Regulus than to Sirius.

The crime Sirius was accused of called for a life-sentence in Azkaban. His brother would waste away in that place. Hated. Alone. Caged.

( _There was nothing more that Sirius ever wanted than to be free.)_

Sirius who was always more lion than a snake. Sirius who burnt down his connections to his family rather than betray one of his friends. Sirius, who didn’t even know of the existence of his daughter- the most important thing in Regulus’s life. Sirius, who Regulus could do nothing to help without putting everything he had left on the line.

Regulus closed his eyes. Took a deep breath to settle his agitated thoughts and tried to focus on what he _could_ do without getting arrested for being a Death Eater himself.

He couldn’t offer up his memories to the Wizengamot.

Not when he had been far from the Dark Lord’s side when the betrayal in question had supposedly occurred. Not when he technically didn’t have any evidence of Sirius’s innocence besides the knowledge that his brother was a better man than he. Not when doing so was a confession of the sins he had committed under the mask of a Death Eater, without the assurance that he would still be a free man after doing so.

He had defected from the Dark Lord’s side for a long enough time that if he went to the right people, then his words in defense for his brother would be worth _something_ at least. The question was not only who would be willing to step against the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch Sr.- but of who could do so and _succeed._

The first that came to mind was Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard that could stand against Lord Voldemort and hold his ground, although Regulus was positive that he was already meddling in Sirius’s case. A naive fool he may be- but a loyal one at that. Light wizards clumped together for a reason, and they were loath to leave one of their own behind, even if the situation was beyond bleak.

Sirius had always shown respect to Dumbledore that not even their parents had been privy to. Regulus had no doubt that it would amount to _some_ form of support from the powerful man. But that meant that besides Dumbledore, Regulus couldn’t think of anyone he could ask- _not beg, a Black never begged, no matter how desperate they were-_ for assistance in proving his brother’s innocence.

The only one of Sirius’s friends that had held any measure of influence had been Potter and the Lupin brat, with that grimy traitor following closely behind, desperate for the attention that no one would have given him had it not for his friends. But Potter was dead, Lupin held no power while his father was still alive, and Peter Pettigrew was a traitor to the cause.

Regulus paused.

Maybe that was the way to go about this entire endeavor?

A traitor for an innocent man. Information for freedom.

The newspaper hadn’t specified when Sirius’s trial was to be held, only that Azkaban was the most certain outcome. Surely there was still time to step forward and tell the world of Peter’s betrayal, revealing the truth behind the man that was being glorified as a hero when he was nothing of the sort.

He would send a letter with Kreacher then, as soon as possible, to Dumbledore.

He had nowhere else to turn.

No one else would even consider aiding him once it was revealed that he had been a Death Eater and imprisonment, no matter how strongly he deserved it for the things he had done, wasn’t an option- not with the promise he had made to Ester Marino hanging over his head. Not with Canopa depending on him for safety and comfort, no matter that he was a liar that had allowed the deception of Canopa’s true parentage to remain hidden for so long.

Then, Kreacher appeared, eyes wide and filled with fear, his small body stumbling as he popped into the chamber with a crack. “Master!” Kreacher cried, trembling down to the tips of his long ears, eyes wide and wet with fear. His arms cradled something close to his chest, small and painfully familiar.

Regulus’s wand was aimed at the house-elf within moments, curse ready to bubble from his lips as he reacted without thought. It took a second for him to recognize Kreacher, another to put his wand down; and a final one for the world to freeze in its axis, for his heart to stop in his chest- for him to register the shape of his ~~_daughter_ ~~ niece in the elf’s shaking arms. Limp, unmoving.  

She was pale, face waxen and beaded with sweat. She trembled, shaking just as badly as Kreacher’s arms under her weight- drawing in breaths so shallow that her chest barely rose with the movement.

“Canopa?” Regulus whispered and repeated it again a second later, louder, fraught with horror.

(( _“Reg, I need you to promise me something,” Ester combed her fingers through the inky strands of his hair, eyes having been turned upward- following the path of the clouds sluggishly floating away- but bringing them down to meet his own. “Promise to take care of Canopa if anything happens to me.“_

_“Nothing is going to happen to you,” He immediately shot back, his eyes flying open to glare at her. “I’ve told you to stop saying such foolish things.”_

_Ester laughed, eyes sad and smile soft, “Humor me won’t you, Reg?”_

_He had paused, not hesitating out of disdain for Canopa or for what his family might say if he took in a half-blooded child as his own, but because at that moment, something told him that making that promise would irrevocably alter his life from there on forth. He refused to allow anything to happen to Ester- would fight to his last breath to prevent it- but as he said the words, promised to care for Canopa no matter what, something cold settled in his bones._

_And three weeks later, when Kreacher cracked into his room, mouth shaping the words that a part of him had been waiting to hear since making that promise- Regulus closed his eyes but was not surprised at all. ))_

Canopa whimpered in Kreacher’s arms.

Regulus jerked into motion at the sound, taking her from the house elf’s arms and cradling her close, head tucked right beneath his chin like he did when she woke with nightmares that Kreacher could not soothe away. “What happened!?”

Kreacher shook his head, gnarled fingers twisting and harshly yanking at his ears. “Kreacher doesn’t know. Bratling was in the bath and it was like the other times, but then it wasn’t. Kreacher doesn’t know what happened, Master.”

He pulled at his ear painfully again, stopping only when Regulus told him to not hurt himself. He fidgeted instead, bouncing from foot to foot anxiously, “Bratling looked into the water and screamed. Then, Bratling was quiet and fainted.”

“That’s all? No magic? She didn’t touch something she shouldn’t have?”

“No, no, Kreacher checked for curses.”

Regulus sat with Canopa on the rumpled bed, wand curling through the air with as many diagnostic spells as he could recall. The results made the knot in his chest loosen the slightest bit.

There was no physical trauma, nor any internal injuries that he was secretly unaware of.

The pulsing of a white ribbon of magic connected to Canopa’s wrist told him that her heartbeat was much faster than it should have been, but it didn’t help him determine the cause. In his arms, the tremors lessened and as he gently rocked her, her breathing steadied.

“Alright,” he said, chewing on his lip, “Here’s what we’ll do.”

The weight of his brother’s eyes was heavy on him as he managed to voice a set of directions for Kreacher to follow- habit turning his words into something closer to a request than an order. Mother would have curled her lip in disgust at the tremble in his voice and the panic in his veins.

All the while, Sirius stared out at him from the newspaper.

‘ _You’re an idiot, Reggie, if you think you can keep her safe from the world.’_ Sirius’s screaming face seemed to say, ‘ _You want to call her yours, but you cannot keep her safe in your own home. ’_

 _‘I know_ ,’ Regulus thought in the silence of Kreacher popping away, teleporting to the kitchen, where one of the many cabinets held the potions that Regulus had asked him to retrieve. _‘I know.’_

He thought of the tapestry, of his brother being accused of a crime Regulus was positive he had not committed. He thought of the Dark Lord, of the world baying for blood and retribution, of the sins he had committed thinking his cause was the just one- the one that would make the world a place that would be worth the lives sacrificed to create it.

 _‘You would be better at this, Siri. You or her, but I’m all that’s left-’_ He brushed the sweaty curls away from Canopa’s face, guilt settling in his belly like lead, ‘- _and she’s all that I have left too.”_

* * *

 

 -it was cold, seeping through her clothes, chilling her skin, freezing the blood in her veins. It surrounded her, burning like fire down her throat, dragged into her screaming lungs. It hurt, hands grabbing her shoulders and pushing her into the darkness spread below; holding her as she screamed and struggled-

_((“It was scary,” she would later tell her Papa, once she was less Canopa and not quite the unnamed dead woman, but something tragic; something both alive and dead, hanging right between the two. ))_

In her bedroom, illuminated with those multicolored orbs of light, held in her Papa’s arms, it was easy to forget- the cold, the water, the fear. At the dinner table, it was easy to forget- the choking, the struggling, the fading.

_((“It was scary and I was alone,” she would say, as if it wasn't a twisting mix of both truth and lie; as if there had never been hands forcing her down, down, down into the coldness of the water; as if those words could hold the weight of what it was like die and not die, all at once, “and it hurt so so much.”))_

Even faced with the tapestry that revealed to her the truth of her parentage- a truth that filled her with a fear of her Papa no longer wanting her because she was not truly his own- it was easy to forget that she was once someone else but Canopa, that she had once had a life before this one.

She _couldn’t_  just push aside what she was.

There were missing pieces, powdered images like shattered glass swirling inside her skull. Who she had been, where she had lived, what she had known- it all mixed together, a whirlpool of memories, a hurricane of thoughts. Overlapping it all was the child, the short life she had lived here- the power of the living crushing the memories of the dead.

Although, not all of them- the jagged parts of death that clung to her would not be so easily swept aside.

_((“We'll figure it out,” Papa had promised her, wiping at her snotty and tear-stained face with a rag Kreacher had handed him, “However long it takes.”))_

She and the child were one now, twisted together down to the very soul. The stain that death had left on Canopa irrevocably changed her, down the deepest part of her being, to the very fabric of her soul.

And looking down at the bath water, seeing her own pale reflection, Canopa knew that no matter how much her Papa had reassured her, things wouldn’t be the same.  

* * *

 

 The flasks of potions hovered in the air near Kreacher’s head when he reappeared in the bedroom once more, gnarled fingers holding a silver tray with a glass of water and a simple broth atop of it.

“For when Bratling wakes up,” the elf clarified, voice still shaky but doing his best to not show the extent of it. “Kreacher has fetched all the potions Master asked of him.”

“Thank you Kreacher,” Regulus said, hand brushing through Canopa’s curls and shoulders slumped downward. He reached for a stoppered flask and popped it open with his thumb, shifting Canopa so that she sat upright on his lap, head lolling back onto his shoulder. The limpness in her body made his stomach turn. It had only been a day since he had seen her, checking on her as she slept, terrified of the confrontation waiting to take place. It had not even been a full day since then- and yet here she was, unconscious in his arms, something unseen wrong with her that he couldn’t find.

The first potion was coaxed down her throat. Regulus holding his breath in anticipation of her awakening. It took a few moments for the potion to do it’s job. But when Canopa woke up it was with a gasp- her body and the doors on Regulus’s armory beginning to violently shake. The photographs on his vanity fell flat on their glass face, the newspaper on his bed taking to the air as the sound of breaking glass filled the room.

Regulus met Kreacher’s equally shocked gaze. Was this Canopa’s doing? Accidental magic?

He had no time to dwell on it, attention snapping back down to ~~his~~ Sirius’s child at the choked sob that left her, as her small hands rose up to clutch at her throat in terror.

“Canopa?”

And at the sound of his voice, her entire body tensed for a fraction of a second- before she whirled around quickly, throwing her arms around him and heaving a loud sob.

“Papa,” she wailed, tears wet and hot against his neck, “Papa, you’re here.”

“It’s alright now,” Regulus murmured, careful to not scare her, heart aching at feeling of her trembling in his arms, at the sound of her calling him Papa despite everything, Wincing as the newspaper flying in the air crashed against the wall, magic tossing everything rampartly around the room, he continued, “I’m here, little one. I’m here.”

“Please don’t make me go away, Papa,” she cried and Regulus flinched. She bunched her tiny hands into fists around the fabric of his shirt, as if she hadn’t broken his heart with those seven words.

Send her away? How could she even think she was capable of such a thing- when worry for her well-being filled him every time she was out of his sight, when the fear of never seeing her again filled him with terror so strong that even a boggart would know to use it against him.

“I won’t,” he promised, throat dry and eyes burning. He swallowed heavily, slowly saying his next words as if testing the weight of them on his tongue. “I won’t ever send you away, little star. Don’t you know that-” his voice grew quieter, guilt and sorrow twining together, tangling with frail hope, “-that Papa loves you?”

Canopa’s head shot up, red-rimmed gaze meeting his in startled disbelief. Her lower lips trembled but her eyes shone a bit brighter, more focused. Like the storm clouds in her blind had cleared long enough for her to hear his murmured assurances. “Even if I’m not yours?”

“I’m not yours either, do you still love me the same?”

_((“Of course she’ll love you,” Ester told him, wiping her hand on her apron and raising a brow at his glum expression, “Just because you’re not her father doesn’t mean she can’t love you like one, you know.”_

_“I didn’t ask that,” he muttered, averting his eyes. Sometimes looking at Ester was blinding. Sometimes the way she looked at him made him feel like a foolish boy asking a question he should already know the answer to. Such as now._

_“Well, not in those exact words, no.” She retorted, rolling her eyes, “But I caught your meaning perfectly fine, Reg, you don’t have to act all shy about it.”_

_“Don’t twist my words,”he snapped, face hot, “I was simply curious, that’s all.”_

_“About whether it’s normal for her to be so attached to you even though you’re not her father?”_

_“Can’t she tell!?” His voice came out like a plead, like he was desperate to know the answer but scared of what he would do if it was something he couldn’t bear to hear, “Doesn’t it matter that I’m not her father? Doesn’t it matter that I won’t be able to be to her what my brother is!?”_

_Ester frowned, moving close, the dishes in the sink forgotten. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the whorls in the wooden table as she approached. She came to a stop besides him, but he did not raise his head._

_Her hands gently brushed his hair away from his face, softly pulling his chin until his eyes met hers._

_“Regulus,” she breathed, placing a soft kiss on his brow, “For a child, for Canopa, what you are right now is a father. It doesn’t matter that you’re not her blood-parent. Is that what you think fatherhood is, Reg? Just having a blood relation and nothing more? Playing with her, changing her, making sure she’s warm and fed- does that not sound like what a father is?”_

_“That… I don’t-”_

_“Just as you already love her, she’ll love you. You don’t have to be related to be family.”))_

There was no hesitation in her actions, no moment of pause.

Canopa met his eyes with an intense gaze, nodding firmly, “You’re my Papa no matter what.”

“And you'll be my little one for however long you let me be your Papa.” Kreacher let out a loud scoff at his words, having remained respectfully silent for most of the interaction.

“Bratling is a simple child, Master,” he said, nose wrinkling up- although there was a tension missing from his bony frame now that Canopa was awake, “Kreacher does not believe that Bratling will ever want otherwise.”

Regulus couldn't help the slight smile that came across his lips. Kreacher wasn't very subtle at all.

“Your mother once taught me that family isn’t just made up of blood-relation,” he said, “And you, Kreacher, and I- we’re a family aren’t we?”

“Yeah!” She was no longer shaking. Her magic settling down until things were no longer floating in the air. “Kreacher is my bestest friend,” Canopa confirmed solemnly, “And Papa is Papa.”

Kreacher sputtered in surprise. His cheeks and the tips of his ears had darkened. He didn't meet Regulus's amused gaze- although, it was clear that he was extremely pleased at the declaration.

“Now little one,” Regulus's began, “why don't you tell me what happened in the bathroom?”

The tremors came back with full force. Her eyes, when they met his, flickered between glazed and sharp. There was something going on here that he was missing- something that he was beginning to think had to do with the events of Halloween night.

And at her words, during a second of clarity in her eyes, Regulus knew he was right.

“I remembered death.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I noticed that this fic got like so many kudos and bookmarks in my absence and I'm overjoyed!? It's so wonderful to see that you guys have high hopes for this fic and I'll do my best to live up to them.
> 
> If you have any questions or just want to yell at me, feel free to follow me on Tumblr (which I'm planning on staying until I'm executed or the site self-destructs) at mortesangriz.tumblr.com . 
> 
> Tell me what you think about this chapter in the comments, or don't, honestly it's up to you. 
> 
> See ya next time though. 
> 
> Love, Morte_Sangriz.


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